


First Impressions

by Lypreila



Series: Kyana Hawke - The Ice Queen Cometh [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age 2
Genre: Anders - Freeform, Drabble, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age 2 - Freeform, F/M, Fenris - Freeform, First Meetings, Hawke - Freeform, One Shot, Overprotective brother is overprotective, Varric Tethras - Freeform, bait and switch, carver hawke - Freeform, introductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lypreila/pseuds/Lypreila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris comes to Kirkwall and finds help in the unlikeliest of places. A short re-telling of 'Bait and Switch', from Fenris' point of view.  Differs some from the quest in the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> An introduction to Kyana Hawke. I'll be putting up a series of one-shots about her time in Kirkwall while I plan out a fic bridging Dragon Age 2 and Dragon Age: Inquisition.

The Kirkwall night was hushed, expectant. The people native to this area had fled with the sun, returning to their homes to lock sturdy doors against the darkness. The high walls and buildings draped this part of the city of chains in deep, overlapping shadows, which suited the purposes of the elf just fine. The man standing in front of him, however, probably appreciated the enshrouding darkness a bit less. Fenris held himself perfectly still, his gauntlet-clad hand deep inside the other’s chest, wrapped around his heart. The armored man was rigid in front of him, murmuring snatches of the chant in a terrified whisper as he waited for the Lyrium-devil to kill him. 

“Lieutenant, I want all the troops in the clearing, now!”

Fenris smiled at his victim, and shoved the rapidly dying man around the corner, allowing his hand to solidify as it slid from the mans back, pulling blood and gore with it. He could hear murmurs of conversation, and, incongruously, a small, tinkling bit of laughter. An odd smell that seemed to be endemic to Kirkwall’s alienage tickled his nose. Then the man’s voice drifted back to him, calling out to his commander, followed by a thud when his body hit the ground. Fenris let the smile slide from his face, then made his way forward. 

“Your men are dead - and your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you still can.”

Sensing rather than seeing a flurry of movement, he stepped forward, blatantly and without fear turning his back to Denarius’ pet slaver. There - in front of him - those must be the ones Anso hired, a small group people, including a dwarf. His train of thought, and his study of Anso’s choice of hirelings, was cut abruptly short by the feeling of a hand clapping down on his shoulder. Fenris let his eyes slide shut for a moment, fighting the memories that possessive touch brought forth, shoving down the nausea, replacing it with a burning hatred. It was a coping mechanism he was unfortunately familiar with. 

“You’re going nowhere, slave.” 

Oh. Well then. The man must want to die. Very well. Fenris pivoted, his brands already burning with the ghostly blue light that had so intimidated his ‘Masters’ enemies. It was a challenge to keep from screaming his hatred as his fist plunged through the slavers’ chest. He settled instead for a low growl, turning back to the group standing in the courtyard as he slid his hand from the mans chest. The sorry excuse for a man’s lifeblood splattered wetly to the ground, the sound just as pleasing to Fenris as the feeling of ridding the world of one more slaver. 

“I am not a slave.”

He tensed, turning back to face the others. He was prepared for them to betray him, but he would tell the truth none the less. It was an unfortunate fact that he needed their help, if it could be had. His eyes fell upon the woman standing in the front, perhaps the leader, trying to gauge strengths and weaknesses, preparing strategies in his head, hoping that the worst wouldn’t come to pass, but readying himself for it anyway. She was short, and he had the brief impression of pale hair and dark eyes before a strong voice rang into the Kirkwall night. 

“Back, now!!”

Fenris began to sigh, but stopped when his eyes made sense of what was going on. Apparently the admonishment hadn’t been directed at him. A young man, wielding an impressive broadsword, had wrapped his hand around the woman’s arm, and jerked her backwards, nearly off her feet. By the time she’d regained her balance, the warrior and another man had stepped forward, effectively blocking her from Fenris’ view. The elf paused. He could feel magic from the one on the left, strong, malevolent, dangerous. Damn. Fenris made an effort to swallow away the dryness of his throat. Perhaps he’d miscalculated, but he did still need help. He made no move for his weapons, though his hands itched to close around the familiar heft of his sword. 

 

“I apologize,” he began, watching the men carefully from the corner of his eye, “When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so…. numerous.”

“It appears we’re unscathed.” Said the dark haired sword wielder, narrowing his gaze on the elf. The other, the mage with the honey-blonde hair and the aura of danger, simply stared, moving back and forth as Fenris paced. Every step, the elf noticed, kept the mage between him and the young woman behind him. Interesting. A weak link? Fenris shook his head, filing the information away in the likely event that he’d have to fight the monster later on. 

 

“Impressive” he said, surprising himself by meaning it. It was, after all, impressive, especially since one member of the group seemed to be dead weight. The short woman he kept catching brief glimpses of behind them seemed to pale in comparison to her deadly companions, who all seemed to be adept warriors, wielding sword, crossbow, and lethal magic. “My name is Fenris. Those men were Imperial bounty hunters, seeking to recover a Magister’s lost property. Namely myself.” 

“They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely.” 

“That’s a lot of effort to find one slave.” muttered the tall, dark haired youth, though not without some bit of sympathy in his voice. 

He stopped his pacing, turning to face the group. “It is.” 

The mage cocked his head to one side, narrowing his gaze on the elf. Something was off there, Fenris could feel. The way he moved, the look in his eyes cycling from cold and hard to sad and sympathetic every so often. He seemed older than everyone there except perhaps the dwarf, but he’d yet to say a single word, and seemed to be letting the other one do all the talking. Everything about him was confusing to Fenris. 

“Does this have to do with those markings?” the mage asked, speaking at last, making the elf wonder idly if the mage could read minds as well. Fenris bit off the sharp retort that came to mind, instead smiling grimly, and held his arms out to the sides. The white markings twined through his skin, a legacy of blood, pain, and longing for answers etched into his very hide. 

“Yes. I imagine I must look strange to you. I did not receive these markings by choice.” He directed a hard look at the mage here, and the man seemed to shrink back, a frown flitting across his face ever so briefly. “Even so, they have served me well. Without them I would still be a slave.”

“If you couldn’t fight them, why not just run?” The question was unexpected, coming not from the warrior or the mage, but from behind them, the short figure crowned with a ghostly halo of pale hair. The mage frowned, glancing back, but kept silent. Apparently everyone wanted the answer to this question, because each of them gazed at him, waiting for the response. The dwarf, however, had a look in his eyes, and a sad smile on his face, making Fenris think that he already knew what the elf’s answer would be. 

“There comes a time when you must stop running,” He could see the dwarf nod to this, and, for some reason, he elbowed the mage gently in the side. “When you must turn and face the tiger.”

“So everything Anso said was a lie?” queried the dwarf, still smiling. 

Fenris rolled one shoulder in a shrug. He didn’t exactly see how it mattered. 

“Not everything. Your employer was just not who you believed.” 

“If they were really trying to recapture you, then I’m glad we helped.” That was the unseen one again, and the words took the elf somewhat by surprise. He lowered his head in acknowledgement, pale locks of unkempt hair falling to shade his face. 

“I have met few in my travels who sought anything other than personal gain.” He paused, hesitant, but…. “If I may ask, what was in the chest? The one they kept in the house?”

“It was empty.” The mages voice was flat, but even so it sent disappointment lancing through him, hot, painful, and entirely expected. He held back the sigh that threatened to push out of him. “I suppose it was too much to hope for. Even so, I had to know.”

“You were expecting something else?” The mage queried, raising one eyebrow. 

“I was, but I shouldn’t have. It was bait, nothing more.” Fenris couldn’t help the fact that his statement sounded morose, even to his own ears. 

“You didn’t have to lie to get our help.” That was the mage again, trying to sound kind, though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the amused snort and roll of the eyes that came from the dark haired youth. The mage let his eyes dart to the side for a second, but returned quickly to eyeing Fenris, pulling a smile onto his face and offering his hand. 

“I am Anders, by the by.” 

Fenris simply stared at the proffered hand. A hand extended in friendship, from a mage. There were few things as dangerous.

“That remains to be seen.” He said, after an entirely too uncomfortable silence. The mage frowned, letting his hand drop back to his side. Fenris turned, kneeling by the man whose life he’d extinguished so recently, running his hands over his uniform, rifling through pockets. He wasn’t precisely aware of what he was looking for till he happened upon it. A small piece of paper, the words indecipherable to the illiterate elf, but with Denarius’ sigil and a crude map traced on the bottom. That he could understand. It was likely that Denarius, in anticipation of recovering his favored pet, had accompanied them to the city. And here was a map, pointing Fenris right to the location of that most hated of Magisters. Quite possibly another trap, but if it wasn’t…… He stood, turning his gaze back to the group before him. 

“It’s as I thought. My former master accompanied them to the city.” Here he paused, swallowed. “I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. I…. could use your help. “

“It sounds like you intend to do more than just talk.” The warrior said with a smirk. The snarky smile bothered Fenris. It was the smile of someone who had little to worry about, who assumed that their problems were the worst, and that no one had more troubles than them. 

“Denarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones, and has sent so many hunters that I have lost count. And before that, he kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a personal pet to mock Qunari custom.” He sneered back, ignoring the mages muttered ‘ouch’, “So yes, I intend to do more than just talk.” 

Fenris saw it from the corner of his eye - the girl, who he’d had yet to see properly, still in shadow and shielded as she was by the two men in front of her, aimed a swift kick to each of the men, earning a surprised grunt from the mage, and a roll of the eyes from the warrior. 

“Really Kyana. Must you?” He muttered beneath his breath. 

“Oh, shut it Carver.” Said the woman, elbowing her way to the front of the pack. 

She was short, shorter than him, with pale hair whose color was difficult to put a name to. He caught the glimpse of a blade peeking out from below a cloak that shifted slowly in the lazy breeze. He could not see her properly beneath the cloak, but she seemed to stand like a warrior, a contradiction of loose and expectant. She didn’t appear as dangerous as her companions, but Fenris reserved judgment. 

“Well…” The woman, Kyana, drawled, “If it means fighting more slavers, we’ll help you. She offered a smile his way. 

“Of course we will,” offered Anders, stepping forward to drape an arm around her shoulders. The small smile Fenris had been about to offer turned into a quick, fleeting frown. He detested mages, and there was something about this one…. But, it was better to have a mage with them if they were to face someone as strong, as deadly, and as devious as Magister Denarius. Better that this mage was with them, even temporarily, than against them. Fenris contented himself with the fact that, after tonight, it was unlikely he’d ever have to see him again. 

“I will find a way to repay you, I swear it.” The elf said at last, lowering his head in acknowledgement. “The Magister is staying in a mansion in Hightown. Meet me there as soon as you can, we must enter before morning.” Then, swallowing his discomfort at turning his back on a mage, he walked away. 

_____________________

Hours later, he was more furious than ever. His brands burned, and his thoughts were tumultuous, running riot over common sense and good judgment. He paced outside the Hightown mansion, struggling to subsume his disappointment that Denarius had not been there, and his anger at what had been revealed within. The woman had been a mage. The blade he’d seen had been grafted onto the end of a staff, a grotesque thing with a skull at the end of it, though he was relatively certain that the skull was fake, or at the very least, not humanoid. 

Eventually his rage, though not spent, settled into something more manageable, and when the group stepped outside they found Fenris leaning against the wall, gaze burning into the cracks in the pavers. The elf rolled his head to one side, not bothering to hide his blatant stare as he took in the four once again. The dwarf had a jovial smile on his face, but still held sympathy in his eyes, though Fenris was certain that sympathy did not extend to pity, and he was grateful for it. The warrior, Carver, was eyeing his tattoos thoughtfully, one brow raised, looking as though he were about to say something stupid. And the final two walked together, the woman, Hawke, with a slight limp and a genuine but tight smile pulling at her lips, and the other, Anders, fussing over her - his hands moving along the length of her arm, mouth babbling, looking unsure of himself once she brushed him away gently. Fenris almost grunted in disappointment. She was everything he could’ve wanted in an ally - focused, deadly, and controlled in battle, and knowledgeable enough about the players in the city’s underworld to obtain almost any information. But, it seemed, he could not escape the mages that fate so delighted in dropping in his path. 

“I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul.” Fenris surprised himself by speaking, the words hoarse at first, but growing stronger. “And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage.” 

He pushed himself away from the cold stone of the wall, stepping forward till he was facing them, not failing to notice how Anders frowned, and laid one hand on the woman’s shoulder, fingers squeezing. It brought a wry smile to his lips. 

“I saw you casting spells inside. I should’ve realized sooner what you really were. So tell me. What manner of mage are you - what do you seek?” 

The Hawke woman smiled, and it was gentle, understanding writ in her eyes, and an involuntary shudder moved through his lyrium scarred skin. 

“I seek nothing, Ser. I hope - so does everyone - but all my hope is for a tomorrow with, perhaps, a little less suffering than today.” 

“Hawke isn’t the only mage around here.” 

Sparing but a moment to look at Anders, the thought came to him again, briefly, that he was dangerous. Before he could grab onto it though, it was gone, and the elf let his gaze skip back to the woman. Silence gripped the street for a moment before he spoke again. 

“I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth.” He was amused to realize that he meant it. “I did not find Denarius, but I still owe a debt. Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised.” 

Silence reigned for a moment as Hawke stared at him, storm blue eyes contemplative. After a beat a thick groan split the silence, and Carver turned to his sister, his face a picture of realization and horror. 

“No!.”

“What?” She said, turning to him, a vision of affronted innocence. 

“I said no! No, as in ‘No Hawke, we’re not going to turn down the money’, as in ’No, Hawke, climbing the mast is not a good idea’, just like ‘No Hawke, we’re not going to take in the stray puppy-” 

Fenris bristled, but looked down when he felt a nudge against his hand. The dwarf, Varric, was grinning at him, and spoke in a low voice.

“Don’t be offended so quickly. She actually did take in a stray puppy while they were on the run from Darkspawn.”

The elf raised a brow to the dwarf, who nodded sagely in return. By the time Fenris turned his attention back to the arguing pair, Carver had thrown his hands up, stalking off towards Lowtown with an air of frustration. Just before he rounded the corner, the boy turned, pointing back at them. 

“Anders”

The mage just nodded, waving him off, apparently knowing what he was talking about, though Hawke, beneath the triumphant smile she wore, seemed mildly confused. Anders patted her shoulder once more, and her smile faltered ever so briefly before returning, full blast. 

“I don’t want your money.” 

Fenris, though having guessed that this would be the outcome of the argument, was still unprepared for the shock of offense that pierced him. Why would the fool girl not take payment for services, and services well rendered at that? The answer hit him with startling clarity, and the elf straightened. One food slid slightly backward, stance widening, and he lifted one hand, seeming to rub at the back of his neck though in reality the move was designed to get his hand closer to the hilt of his sword without arousing suspicion. 

“Then what do you want, mage?” It was impossible to help his tone, the suspicion and wariness. 

“Didn’t we just go through this?” Hawke asked nobody in particular, raising and lowering her shoulders in a wondering shrug. “Though if you ask Carver he’d say differently, what I want isn’t exactly that important.”

Varric snorted, and Hawke beamed a smile at him, teeth bared in an almost menacing fashion. 

“I’m curious, Fenris. What are you going to do?” 

The question, coming as it did, surprised the elf, and his hand slowly slid from his neck as he stared at the woman. He had to admit it - he hadn’t thought that far ahead. For an eternity of time his only desire had been to stay one step ahead of Denarius. Only lately had they turned to ideas of getting the Magister off of his back, of having a life free from pursuit. He hadn’t even begun to think of what would happen afterwards. 

“I shall stay here.” The words seemed fitting, as did the location. Kirkwall wasn’t that far from the Imperium, and he’d made a very few contacts here who could keep him apprised of things he wished to know. It was also a city festering in its own filth. He’d heard the rumors of blood mages running rampant, and someone who knew how to fight a mage would always be in demand in a city like this. Fenris gave a sharp nod, settling into the idea quickly. “I shall stay here.” 

He turned to leave, but just before stepping in the door of the manse he’d now claim as his own, he turned, looking back at Hawke and her friends, cocking an eyebrow. He supposed it was only right, to pay for a service, even if the one who had provided it did not wish for monetary compensation. 

“If you find yourself in need of assistance, I would be glad to render it.”

A small smile played on the woman’s lips as she gazed at him. 

“You didn’t seem all that thrilled with me a moment ago.” 

Fenris nodded in acknowledgement, stomach churning with a feeling he couldn’t identify, acid threatening to rise into his throat. 

“You are not Denarius. Weather you are anything like him remains to be seen.” 

“Well…” She looked to Varric, whose easy grin mirrored her own, then to Anders, who shook his head minutely. Her storm grey eyes reflected the pain in his own but briefly before she turned back to Fenris. “I’m planning an expedition I might need some help with. You know, monsters, darkspawn, that type of stuff. Fun for the whole family, I’m told.”

“Fair enough,” the elf muttered, lowering his head in acquiescence, “If you have need of me, I will be here. If Denarius wants his mansion back, he is free to return and claim it.” 

With that he stepped forward, crossing the threshold of a building that was now, for all intents and purposes, his own, allowing himself a small thrill of excitement at the thought. The door fell shut behind him, leaving the group outside to gaze curiously, till Anders cajoled Hawke into leaving, his loud instance on walking her to her uncles home echoing into the quiet Kirkwall night.


End file.
